


Lover, be good to me

by daylight_angel



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bisexual "Trapper" John McIntyre, Bisexual Hawkeye Pierce, Bisexual Male Character, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Spanking, Topdrop, implied past Tommy Gillis/Hawkeye Pierce, this is just smut and feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 21:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daylight_angel/pseuds/daylight_angel
Summary: Trapper isn’t sure what he expected when Hawkeye dragged him into the abandoned hut on the edge of camp they use when the supply shed is full, or too public, the place they use when they want to take their time, but it certainly wasn’t this.





	Lover, be good to me

Trapper isn’t sure what he expected when Hawkeye dragged him into the abandoned hut on the edge of camp they use when the supply shed is full, or too public, the place they use when they want to take their time, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“I-”

“Please.”

"Are ya sure?" Trapper asks, worried. It's not that he doesn't understand the virtue of what he’s asking for, but in Hawk's current state he just isn't sure it's a good idea.

"Please," Hawkeye pleads, his shoulders slumped and head down, standing dejectedly in the middle of the Quonset hut. "I need it, please Trap."

"Okay," John agrees a little reluctantly, taking a moment to get into the right headspace. He circles, thinking, and stops directly in front of Hawk. "Strip."

Hawk pulls his shirt off over his head and shoves his pants down, stepping out of them and kicking them away. He stands almost like he's centerstage somewhere, the dim light of the hut casting his features into sharp relief. Trapper's eyes catch on his feet, still clad in Army boots, and he takes a knee.

"Left," he orders. Hawkeye puts his foot in Trap's lap, letting him unlace the boot and tug it off, tucking the sock inside before setting it aside.

"Down."

Hawkeye puts his bare foot back on the floor, wiggling his toes a little as he adjusts. John waits a minute, and then gently prods Hawkeye's thigh.

"C'mon honey, other foot." Hawkeye blankly lifts his right foot and Trap repeats the process, guiding his foot back to the floor when he's done. He pushes off the ground to stand and pulls Hawkeye's chin up to focus on him.

"Do ya want restraints?" he asks, glad when Hawkeye shakes his head in a vehement _no_.

"Hold out your arms," Trapper instructs, letting go of Hawk's face, "palms facin' up." Hawkeye complies, and Trap grabs whatever is heavy and nearby, dropping a iron paperweight he thinks Henry left behind in the last bugout and something of equal weight he can't quite identify into Hawkeye's hands.

"Keep those up until I tell ya to stop," he says, pulling a chair out, (he resolutely doesn't blush or falter when he realizes it's the same chair Hawkeye cuffed him to the last time they did this, riding him until Trapper had cried, overwhelmed and frustrated in the best possible way), and sitting down with one of Hawkeye's nudist magazines. He doesn't know how long they sit there, but every time he looks up Hawkeye's arms are more and more shaky, drooping down.

"Up," he says more than once, Hawk scowling and raising his arms back up, trembling with the effort. Finally Hawkeye's body gives up, one of the weights crashing to the floor.

Trap raises an eyebrow over the magazine. "C'mere." He points to his lap and Hawkeye drapes himself over his leg, face turned away.

"I'm gonna give ya twenty strokes, okay?" John says gently, running his hand down Hawkeye's bare back and landing on his ass. Hawkeye nods, hiding his face against Trapper's pant leg.

"I want you to count," Trap adds. Usually he'd let Hawk succumb to the haze generated by what he's doing, let it take him down to that place where nothing matters but the sound of his voice and how _good_ it feels to obey, but today he wants Hawkeye to be grounded in his body and the moment.

He brings his hand back and smacks it into Hawk's cheeks, the sound echoing off the corrugated metal walls.

"One," Hawkeye says quietly.

John spanks him again, palm already stinging from the effort.

"Two."

A third time and the skin of Hawkeye's ass begins to redden, a broad reaction Trap knows will begin to take on the shape of his hand with a few more well placed strokes.

"Th-three," Hawkeye moans, grinding against Trapper's thigh.

They continue like this, Trapper unerringly striking the same few spots, Hawkeye whimpering beneath him, still but for the shift of his hips.

"So good," John says, pulling back a bit and making Hawkeye wait for it. "Staying still, takin' it so well."

He makes the next couple hits really count, hard and fast and close together, Hawk sobbing out numbers, involuntarily twisting away from Trap's hand.

"What did I just say?" he chides gently, pulling Hawkeye back into place. "How many more?"

"Tuh-, oh god Trap, two, two more."

He waits for a minute, his hand close enough to feel the heat coming off of Hawkeye until he's sure Hawk can stay still again.

"Nineteen! Oh, _fuck_ , nineteen."

Trapper smiles and spanks him again, fingers spread broadly and his palm as flat as he can make it.

"Fuck!" Hawkeye says, jumping as Trap gropes his ass directly after.

"What was that?" Trap asks coyly.

"Fuck," Hawk repeats, shaking his head. "Um..tw-twenty," he finally chokes out. Trapper rubs soothingly against Hawkeye's reddened ass, knowing the slight pressure both hurts and helps.

"More," Hawkeye begs raggedly, pushing back into the sensation.

"Can ya handle it?"

"Yes, please,  _more_."

"Start from one, darlin'," Trap says, and keeps going.

After Hawkeye stumbles through, "sic, si,  _sixteen_ ," and repeats it twice, tears wet against John's thigh, he stops and pulls Hawkeye up off his lap, careful not to jostle him too much. Hawkeye goes limply, letting Trap take him to the mattress in the corner and lay him gently on his front. He isn't sure when exactly Hawkeye came during the spanking but his cock is sticky and spent, soft against his thigh. John digs out the wet wipes he keeps here and gently rubs Hawkeye down, turning him on his side to wipe away the cum and sweat on Hawkeye's stomach and thighs, working quickly when he runs the cloth over his red and slightly bruised ass. Hawk whines into the mattress, pained and high.

"I know, honey, shush," John soothes, wishing he had an ice pack to lay on the worst of the bruising. Why Hawkeye likes this so much when he bruises like an overripe peach he'll never understand. "I got ya, hang on, almost done."

He tosses the wipe aside and undresses, crawls carefully onto the mattress to hold Hawkeye close. He's still sniffling, although John suspects it's more from the riot of emotions he's been dealing with, the lost patients and the long days and the blood stained manuscript Hawkeye had taken out of Tommy Gillis’s personal effects, now kept safe and untouched in his footlocker.

“I’ve got ya,” John repeats, stroking Hawk’s cheek with his knuckle, tangling their legs together until Hawkeye gets the idea and clings to him, tucking his head into Trap’s neck and winding himself around him like a octopus.

“You didn’t-” Hawkeye whispers roughly, lips soft against John’s skin. Trap shifts, thinking there’s really nothing he’d like _less_ right now, even if his cock hasn’t quite got the same idea, but he doesn’t think Hawk will take that well.

Instead he presses his lips to Hawkeye’s hair. “Later, I’m alright,” he says, running his fingers up and down his spine. Hawk nods silently, eyelashes fluttering, a gossamer touch against Trapper’s collarbone. They lie there together, Hawkeye dozing, John gently mapping every inch of his skin he can reach with his fingers, overly aware of how tightly he’s holding on to Hawkeye and Hawkeye is holding on to him, how much he needs this, how much they _both_ need this part. He doesn't even realize he's crying until Hawkeye leans up on his elbows and wipes away the tears, hands cupped around his face.

“Trap?” he asks, worried. “Trap, you okay?”

“It's nothin’,” Trapper insists, tears still leaking out no matter how hard he tries to stop them.

Hawkeye raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Trap.”

“I-I hurt ya.”

“I wanted you to.”

“I know, I _know_ , but,” John sighs, frustrated. “I don't….this is what you needed, but all I wanted to do was hold ya,” he admits. Hawkeye's eyes go soft and sweet.

“John,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss Trapper, “you're so good to me.”

Trapper returns the kiss, the heavy weight of Hawkeye on his chest a comfort, the soft feel of his lips a balm, and the way Hawkeye's hands bracket his face grounds him. All they do for a long,  _long_ time is kiss, Trap running his hands down Hawkeye's arms and Hawk making soft, pleased noises into his mouth, smiling.

“Hawkeye,” Trapper whispers between kisses, a smile breaking out on his own face, “oh, _oh_ , Hawkeye.”

Hawkeye smacks a kiss against his grin, fleeting contact that makes them both giggle, and starts kissing down Trapper's neck. John tenses a little, expecting a love bite that never comes.

“Hey,” Hawkeye says, looking up through his lashes, “I've got _you_ now, it's okay.” He presses his lips to the join between his neck and shoulder and in the hollow of his collarbone, laying kisses in every one of his favorite places on Trapper's body until he ends up between his legs. Hawkeye kisses his hip bone and the inside of John's thighs before pausing, poised just over his cock.

“Hawkeye…”

“Mmm?” Hawk says pleasantly, running his hands up Trapper's legs. Trap catches one, holds on tight.

“Ya don't have to,” he says hoarsely, still worried he's pushed Hawkeye too far tonight. There's worse things than going to bed unsatisfied, even if the sight of Hawkeye Pierce between his legs is _beautiful_ , enough to make a grown man cry.

“I want to,” Hawkeye reassures him, “I promise baby, I want to.”

He waits for Trap to nod, his throat tight, before gently licking at the head of Trapper's cock, taking it down slow and careful, the fingers of his left hand still interlaced with Trapper's own. It's tender, sweet, and exactly what he needed, Hawkeye making love to him with tongue and lips, warm pressure and wet heat.

John moans, his head back, the worry in his head quieting, banished by the touch and feel of how Hawkeye enjoys his body, how he knows exactly what to do to make him feel good. Hawkeye sucks gently, none of his usual showy tricks, just enough for Trap to feel nothing but pleasure, soft and warm and loved. It’s intimate, and with all they’ve done together John didn’t think Hawk could faze him with something like this but his ears are hot and his eyes are prickling and it’s all so _much_ , but so _good._

Hawkeye smiles at him with his mouth full, eyes crinkling, and squeezes his hand.

“ _Ah_ , ah, c’mere,” Trapper says, sitting up and pulling at Hawkeye’s hand until he comes up to kiss him, tasting like skin and sex. Hawkeye slips his tongue into Trapper’s mouth, winding his free hand down between them. He leans forward, groaning, Hawkeye moving him down until his head is resting on top of Trapper’s, reassuring and close.

“I wanted it,” Hawkeye is murmuring into his hair, clever fingers around his cock, and John moans, worrying gently with his teeth at Hawkeye’s shoulder, not biting down, but the need has to go somewhere and he’s panting open mouthed, lost in the moment. “I wanted it and you did so good, took care of me just like I asked, like I needed.” He strokes faster, his hand caught between their bodies.

“Hawkeye, _ah_ , please,” Trapper groans, “please, love you, please, _please_ -”

“I’ve got you Trap, love you too, c’mon,” Hawkeye says, smile in his voice. “Come for me baby.”

He twists his hand up and over Trapper’s cock and his vision whites, eyes closing as he rides out the orgasm, nose shoved into Hawkeye’s neck. He makes some noise he’ll be embarrassed about later, Hawkeye chuckling, but right now he can't care, too focused on wrapping his arms around Hawkeye and pulling him down to kiss him senseless, cock still twitching against their stomachs.

“Trap,” Hawkeye laughs delightedly and it warms Trapper up inside to hear that laugh, it’s been conspicuously absent from his life for the last few weeks.

“Hawkeye,” he says back, staring up at Hawkeye with adoration in his eyes. _I missed you,_ he doesn’t say, but he did, even when they were standing right next to each other. He hadn't even been able to muster the energy to ask if he should be jealous of what Gillis meant to him, watching how sick Hawkeye was with grief. When they’d been hit by a three day shift, patients coming in broken and bleeding from so many places John had lost track, Hawkeye had slipped steadily away from him.

He'd been frantic, couldn’t pull Hawkeye back to himself with a joke or by crooning Sinatra at him from the other side of the table like usual, Hawkeye always quiet, disturbingly quiet.

 

But here he is again.

**Author's Note:**

> title is a reference to _Be _by hozier__  
>  all due thanks to the crew over at the Swamp, whose encouragement is sweet and right and really goddamn nice.


End file.
